


Tonight

by Lucigoosey_The_Lightbringer



Category: Prodigal Son (TV 2019)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Death, Episode: s02e01 It's All in the Execution, Gen, Malcolm Bright Dies, Malcolm Bright Whump, Not Canon Compliant, Suicidal Thoughts, dying
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-13
Updated: 2021-02-13
Packaged: 2021-03-13 01:07:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,268
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29393838
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lucigoosey_The_Lightbringer/pseuds/Lucigoosey_The_Lightbringer
Summary: The city is beautiful tonight. The air traps itself under his suit jacket, puffing it up around him.
Comments: 6
Kudos: 18





	Tonight

"Careful… it's not really my thing."

Malcolm watches with a smile playing on his lips, a hint of the crazy he knows he can't let out in a serious situation - as if standing on a ledge several stories up isn't a _serious situation_ \- as his killer turns away from him for a second, back pressed to the wall, and eases in a breath through clenched teeth. It's not a lie; Malcolm Bright is many things, but careful isn't one of them. Especially now; despite knowing the tether was attached to him, he couldn't help but feel a flutter of adrenaline, an exciting amount of fear, at being so high up. He almost wondered what it would be like, in a different setting, to look down across the city like this, to have the _intention_ of just stepping off the edge and letting himself fall. It's a crazy thought, one that passes through his mind more than once until he reminds himself to focus. After all, he has a killer to catch.

"It's my father's fault," he continues casually, and the man jumps and turns back to him, seemingly having forgotten he was there. Malcolm offers another grin, then pushes himself away from the wall. He doesn't look down at the ledge, doesn't bother to see how much leg room he has. He really wishes they'd give him the signal already. "I mean - heh - all of this is!" He lifts a hand, pokes at the side of his head, and sways back to the wall. "He's in my head."

The man stares at him. Malcolm sinks forward again. "Serial killers…" He sighs, forlornly, and looks back out across the city. His words hold more truth than he's willing to admit right then. "They… have a tendency to do that." He stares for a moment, narrowing his eyes slightly, then flicks his gaze to the side. His killer is wide-eyed, confused. "You might have heard of him. Martin Whitly? The Surgeon?" He urges, and the man's eyes blow wide in half a second, surprise flitting across his face. No hostility or wariness, not that Malcolm expected any from a fellow serial killer. He stares, breathes out a soft 'whoa', and from there… everything's a blur.

Everything's a blur, these days. He goes through the motions. He catches the killer. Like his life is set on fast forward, he's just going through, with as fast a pace as he can manage, just living.

Existing. Not living.

 _Tonight_ , he's living.

Tonight, on this ledge, with his heart pounding, adrenaline racing, he's _living_.

His killer attacks him with a knife. Malcolm reacts accordingly, even though he doesn't really want to. He moves as he knows he should, moves _away_ from the danger, to the sharp object that could very easily slash across his throat, or plunge into his chest and stop his heart and-

His foot slips.

_Tonight, he's alive, lit ablaze with an energy and fire he hasn't felt in months._

The man goes down. Malcolm grabs for him reflexively, even with every instinct screaming at him to pin himself back against the wall. Then the killer's hand clasps with his own and he rockets forward with a scream ripped from his lips, an instinctive fear response. But he doesn't move any further. He hangs at the edge, tethered taut, with a man dangling from his hand. Something sharp and cold pounds in his chest, and it's like someone had hit pause for a second before his life continued moving again, no longer in fast forward now, but going _normally_.

Disappointment churns in his stomach. Cars race back and forth below. The man grabs onto him tight, holding on for all he's worth, a look of fear in his eyes that Malcolm can't quite share.

"Bright!" Dani gasps from behind him, "you were supposed to wait for us to anchor the tether!"

"Seems like you anchored the tether," Malcolm breathes, eyes fixed on the killer dangling from his hand. He literally holds this man's life in his hands right now. If his grip loosened, if he let go, _if he fell_ … if he fell… he could only imagine the rush. The excitement. Anticipation rolls through him like thunder, nothing he'd ever felt before. His senses are sharp, his brain is on fire.

"Anchor that tether, Edrisa!"

_And there's still a chance he can-_

"Don't let me go," the killer sobs, and Malcolm wheezes out a laugh.

"Why shouldn't I?" He eggs on with a grin. He leans forward a little, testing his limits; Dani and JT immediately scream at him to stop, to wait. He doesn't want to, but he does. But he doesn't lean backwards, either. "You're a killer, Chester. If I let you go, you'll never hurt anyone again."

_If I let go_

_He'll never hurt anyone_

_If I fall_

_I can never hurt anyone_

His breath catches. Excitement eats him alive. "Isn't that the right thing to do?"

There's silence.

Then he hears something… stretch.

Snap.

Loosen.

Tonight, he's alive.

With his feet at the edge, just barely hanging off, Malcolm rocks forward. His eyes widen instinctively as he goes. Chester yells. Dani screams his name, and JT yells out a " _NO!"_

This time, he doesn't stop. He feels the ledge disappear from underneath him. It snaps taut and he halts for only a second, a split second in which the fear and excitement and adrenaline pulsing through his veins screeches to a blinding, deafening, numbing halt, and Malcolm thinks for that second that it's going to be okay, and they're going to pull him back up, and tonight will have just been another night he did the _right_ thing, what he was _supposed_ to do, another day of just going through the motions and catching the killer and existing solely because he has to, because he's alive. Tonight, he's alive. And tonight the world is in slow motion. Tonight New York knows who he is. Tonight _he_ knows who he is. He is Malcolm Whitly, the Surgeon's son.

Tonight is colored _bright_ , _sparkling, flashing, singing-_

The tether snaps.

Malcolm's heart drops to his stomach the same way he drops toward the ground. He doesn't know when he lets go of Chester. But he knows when the weight vanishes all at once, from his hands, from his shoulders, from his head, from it all. He knows when he feels like he's floating.

Tonight is loud, cars honking, brakes screeching, tires squealing. He hears his name, like angels in a choir, singing _BRIGHT, BRIGHT, BRIGHT_ and _MALCOLM, MALCOLM, MALCOLM-_

The city is beautiful tonight. The air traps itself under his suit jacket, puffing it up around him.

Tonight is memories of the life he used to have. His father, pulling him close, holding him tight. His mother tucking him into bed. His sister's squealing laughs as they run through the mansion in the middle of the night. Tonight his life doesn't flash before his eyes, but it plays by slowly, bit by bit by bit as he floats through the air. Each memory carries him further, encompasses him in such a feeling of peace, and warmth, and excitement and certainty - and tonight, his life is perfect. Tonight, the horror show he's been trapped in since he was _ten years old_ is gone.

His song continues to sing. _Bright, Bright, Bright._

Tonight, he is bright.

Tonight, he is free.

Tonight, he is happy.

Tonight, he is alive.

The world speeds up again. Malcolm realizes, remembers, that he isn't floating.

 _Oh_ , is his last thought. His excitement doesn't fade.

The world stops.


End file.
